Chapters:

I was always 'the quiet one'. The
'smart one'. The 'loner'.
Nobody expected much from someone like me. I worked in my
brother's computer shop, fixing circut boards and rewiring plug
sockets. But I had dreams too. I wanted to become an artist, to
inspire hundreds, to be known. I wasn't bad either, or
so I'd been told by my teachers.
But nobody knew who I was.

Maybe I should start at the
beginning - you don't know who I am yet either, after all.
My name is Sabrael. And joking aside, I like my name. Sabrael was
an angel,the guardian of the first heaven. My name is the only
thing that my mum gave me before she abandoned me.
I'm a seventeen year old, 5 foot 9, white British gentleman. I
have muscle, but I'm skinny and always buy my clothes a size too
big, so nobody really notices. My hair is black,and I don't do
anything with it, so it's always sticking out at odd angles. I
wear glasses when I work, because everything gets just a little
bit blurry if I don't.
I'm also gay.

I like to sit on the bleachers
during the summer, when I'm doing my essays, because the sunlight
dapples the page. Well... That's the excuse I have in mind for if
anyone ever asks why I'm there. But in truth... I do less work
out there than I do whilst I'm working in the store. If the
football team aren't practicing, I tend to sketch, or to whittle
something. But if they are... I have far betterthings to look at.
Namely the often-shirtless sex God. His name was Archer. But
everyone called him Hunter.
Hunter...
That name haunted me, followed me around like a lonely hound. So
did his eyes. Oh my... Those eyes were amazing. The brightest
blue, shining and intellegent.

And today, the sun was shining,
hot and heavy on my back. I could feel the sweat beginning to
break out down my spine, theLouisiana heat humid around me. I
couldn't get used to this... I'd been in the states for four
months, and the heat was still horrible. 27 degrees celcius in
April. That was just wrong.
I ran my fingers through my hair, feeling my unevenly-distributed
spikes starting to wilt. It was officially too hot to wear a
jacket. Bummer.
Glancing around myself, I slowly began to unzip my hoodie,
swallowing nervously. I have a phobia of people seeing my figure.
Sliding my arms from the sleeves, I felt goosebumps raise on my
pale skin, more through anxiety than cold - the latter of which I
certainly wasn't. My fingers knotted uncertainly in my lap for a
moment, feeling eyes on me, until after a few seconds I gathered
the courage to glance upward.
My heaven, my angel incarnate, was staring at me. Was... admiring
me? No... That's foolish. A man like him could never be
interested in a nobody like me.
But those crystalline blue eyes were trailing over my shoulders,
down my biceps, over the curve of my elbow... Then stopping in
suprise, and shooting up to look at my face. I felt my cheeks
flame, and looked down quickly, humiliated and sickened by
myself. I could feel him looking at me, watching, and I knew
exactly where his eyes were focused - I could feel it, like heat
from a laser, prickling my skin until the sensation became so
uncomfortably intense that I curled my arms against my abdomen
foolishly, reading from the sociology textbook in my
lap.

It took ten minutes for me to feel his gaze
shift from me - and a further fifteen for the rapid beat of my
heart to soothe itself. For once, I didn't look up at all
throughout the football practice, even though I knew they'd taken
their shirts off. I was terrified to look - in case he saw me
looking.
I heard the practice end, and glanced up to get my one glimpse of
the sweating, shirtless beauty before he left.
But it's never that easy.Oh,shit.
He was walking toward me, wiping his sweat-sheened chest with his
cast-off shirt.Oh, shiiit....
I looked down quickly, heart hammering violently as he sat on the
bleachers one row beneath me.Oh, shi- ... He smells really good...
I scolded myself internally and fidgeted, aiming myunfocused eyes
at the textbook.
"Hey." Hewhispered.